Sex of Warcraft: New Partners

Note: First, thanks to everyone for the good reviews on Bounty of the Hunt! It's very encouraging! Here's another tale of misconceptions and lust in Azeroth for you all, hopefully as enjoyable as the last. As a side note, if you'd like to see a particular combination of races in a story, let me know and I'll see what I can work up; this stuff is pretty darn fun!

Sex of Warcraft: New Partners

Tharg heaved his mug into the air, downing his third pint of the evening. Orgrimmar was even busier then usual – which wasn't surprising, given that the blood elves had only recently been received into the Horde. There were still "festivities" going on – although most of the serious orcs knew full well that it was an unofficial attempt to get the elf hatred out of their veins.

But Tharg also knew that orcs weren't animals, and that they wouldn't hate the elves just because they were elves. No, orcs were conscious beings – and, perhaps more importantly in this case, they had damned fine ale. He found that helped with a lot of the oddities of his life as a soldier for the Horde.

He decided to go check on the proceedings; after all, there always seemed to be something new. Yesterday, it had been one of the blood elves' paladins trying to show off his skill to a crowd of spectators. It had all gone well, but then Tharg's brother Karkon, a hulking, 7-and-a-half-foot mountain of flesh, came and smacked him around something nasty, and that put a slight cool on interracial relations for the day.

Tonight, it was a magic show. The elves were set up near Warchief Thrall's hold, and were displaying their prowess with arcane energies. They were conjuring various trinkets, making colourful displays of light, and setting things on fire – blue fire, mind you. In all, it was an impressive show; Tharg cheered with his compatriots at each major show, delighted. The ale only made the stars he saw brighter.

"Woo-hoo!"

Tharg was startled by the shrill cry. He looked over at the source of the sound. It was a somewhat short, perhaps 6 foot, elf with a golden diadem in her black hair, and elegant, crimson silk robes clinging to her body. She was a little red in the cheeks – he heard elves fancied wine a great deal – and was hooting and cheering her fellows in the center of the crowd.

Seeming to sense his staring, she turned to him, and her expression cooled significantly.

"I'll bet you haven't seen that before, have you?" she asked, her voice full of contempt.

He sneered, cursing the arrogance of the elves. "Remember that holy warrior of yours yesterday? My brother was the one who crashed in his shield."

She seemed taken aback, but was quick to mask her hurt pride. "Not surprising he'd be proficient at it – all you orcs know is brute force."

He snickered. Magic was fickle and unpredictable. Brute force, however, always managed to drive an axe into your enemy's skull. He didn't bother to share this with the elf, though – she was obviously confident that her ways were quite superior to his own, and therefore wasn't the kind of person he would enjoy interacting with.

Instead, he watched the displays for a little longer, and then decided to retire. There were other things to do; he had been ordered to be at the front in the Plaguelands a week from now, and he needed to prepare for the journey. He passed by the inn one last time, to refill his mug, and left, only staggering a little.

He rounded a corner, and was immediately assaulted by the smell of rotting flesh. He blinked stupidly for a few seconds, and then recognised it; of course, it was the smell of Forsaken. He peered around for the source; they didn't deign to visit arid Orgrimmar much, preferring to stay in their damp, dark crypts in the Old World. He wondered what sort of person this could be.

He heard some grunting, as though someone were trying to lift a heavy object. Vaguely thinking he might help, he peered around the corner – and stood dumb as an undead couple obliviously went at it behind a stack of crates. Tharg, in drunken perplexity, found himself surprised that the Forsaken could actually get it on.

A little dazed, he turned around and jogged away, suddenly feeling jealous. He hadn't had a fun night for months now; he hadn't yet taken a life mate, but he'd been fooling around with a troll girl a couple of moons ago. They'd eventually been discovered, however, and her family had been outraged. Since then, he'd been spending some very lonely nights.

He kept walking through the huge city, and the signs of the festivities were everywhere. There were masses of ornaments and shreds of fancy clothes all over the ground, Orgrimmar not being the best place for the blood elves to exhibit their extravagance. There was the sweet smell of ale, wine, and magic in the air; the city glowed oddly in the light of the elves' powers, and all around one could hear the sounds of cheering crowds, explosions, and music. He was a little sad to be leaving it all – he found it a nice place to stay. But at the same time, he hadn't had combat in two weeks, and at this point he was ready to swing his fists at just about anything that smelled – except a mug of ale. That would be a waste.

*****

"Lathro'van, you are drunk."

The elf male smiled back at her, his face as red as her gown. "Nonsense, I've not over-indulged. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to –"

"And you're a fool," Retha cut him short. "I've got better things to do then mess around with you – damn it, who the hell nominated me for this "diplomacy trip", anyway?"

"Why, my dear lady, that would be our mutual benefactor, Master Thas'Sho. He believed your calm temper would be useful on such an occasion."

Calm tempter – yeah, that was her, all right; except, of course, when she was stuck in the year-round World Barbarian Convention. This place stank of kodo dung and sweat, and she was intensely displeased to fine that the now tattered edges of her gown, in constant contact with the ground, had become sullied.

"Milady –"

"Oh, cut it out, Lathro. You just haven't had a good lay in weeks, and we know that when you're not sucking the life essence out of poor, hapless animals, you're screwing around with some chambermaid or courier," she hissed. "I'm not your call girl."

That put a stop in his speech, albeit a temporary one. After what looked like some inadequate thinking, he started up again.

"Well, it seems the wine as certainly loosened your tongue," he said mischievously. "Perhaps you would consent to loosen that pretty mouth for yours for something else as well?"

Dirty bastard, she thought, nota care in the world for anything but himself. She turned to walk away, but he seized her by the arm and spun her around again.

"Surely, a short tryst would do you no harm?"

She tried to pull away, silently vowing that if he got that tryst, she'd bite down hard on the first thing that came at her. She wasn't in the mood – these nearly animal "allies" they had made were disappointing, to say the least, and now this former classmate of hers was trying to have his way with her? She wouldn't stand for it.

Retha had, of course, decided to go take a walk in "the Drag". It was a dark, dank section of the city, full of purple lighting and dregs; bad idea. Lathro'van had found her in a dark alley, and now she was trapped. He moved towards her, his strong arms quickly overpowering her. He pulled her close, tugging hard at her gown, and moved to kiss her.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" she yelled, trying to slap him. He chuckled, and grabbed both her wrists forcefully.

She took one small comfort; he wasn't as good as she was in the ways of magic. She could probably set his dick on fire – or suck the life out of it, and not in the pleasant sense. As he tried to move her further into the alley, she toyed with the idea – which would be more pleasing? She opted for fire – the pain was sharper that way.

She half-closed her eyes as he moved in towards her face with his tongue, going over the words in her mind. As she thought, she felt him tear the top of her dress open. That does it, she thought. She was ready to release the spell –

BAM. She was thrown onto the ground, her ears ringing. Lathro, for his part, staggered and gasped. She looked up, hoping to see a patch of blackened robes in between his legs – but she saw nothing.

"Ah, you're a tricky one, aren't you?" he snickered. Her face fell with shock; what had happened? He couldn't have blocked the spell!

"You see," he calmly say, strolling back over towards her, "I took the liberty of placing a protecting enchantment on my masculinity – one of the so-called "chambermaids" in Silvermoon once thought as you did, and I only narrowly escaped serious damage."

She cursed. Now that he was onto her, he had probably erected a barrier around himself – she wouldn't be able to get at him, no matter where she aimed. As he knelt over, she struggled, but his arms took her up easily as he made to carry her to some secret little corner behind the houses. She silently swore – she couldn't count on surprise attacks anymore.

At least, not coming from her; at that very moment, a big green fist came out of seemingly nowhere and bashed Lothra'van on the shoulder, sending both elves to the ground. Retha looked up, and was surprised – it was the same orc who had claimed that his brother had defeated the Paladin Kas'them. Now, though, he looked a little drunker, and proceeded to kick her aggressor into a corner; he swung his foot at the hapless mage, bashing him across the face, and the elf fell to the ground in a heap.

Retha was scandalised. Rising up, she slated the orc. "You brute! You murdered him! You killed an elf, you dirty, low-lying dog!"

In answer, he turned around; a glint of recognition appeared in his eyes. He walked over to grab her arm, and dragged her over to the body by force. Then, with his thick, green hands, he took hers and pressed it against Lothra'van's neck. She wondered for a moment, and then felt a steady pulse. He was only unconscious.

Still, it was a hairsbreadth from capital offence. "That's nice," she said, "Now let go of me. You must like beating elves to go looking for an excuse like that, so I think I'll get away now."

He let go, but stared at her, puzzled. "He was being dishonourable – it was my duty to get him off you."

She looked blankly at him. "What? Oh, you're big on that honour thing, are you?" she retorted. Then, quite suddenly, she remembered that her upper dress was torn, and her inner garments were revealed. "If you had honour, you'd be looking away, petty orc."

He looked somewhat offended, and was about to leave when actually did look. He seemed to puzzle out something – wondering what her breasts were? Those orc females certainly weren't as busty as her, if that's what he was used to – and then came a little closer.

"I can give you spare thread to fix that," he said lamely. She had expected worse, but still wasn't impressed.

"Fine, but be quick about it. I can't stand this place – your city smells like shit."

He glared at her again, but motioned for her to follow, and she did. She could buy thread, of course, but if she could get it out of this orc for free, then who was she to complain?

She followed him through the streets, holding her upper clothes together with her left hand. He made his way to what looked like a barrack; it was settled a little higher in the wall of the canyon then the houses, and had several turrets along the outside that were manned by guards. He led her inside, most of its occupants were out, and the rest were sleeping. She followed the orc to a room identical to all the others, and he beckoned her inside.

She accompanied him inside; she was a little surprised at the size that was devoted to a single soldier, but all the same, it felt cramped. She turned to find him rummaging frantically through his bags.

"Have you actually got any, or should I leave?"

He grunted something guttural, probably an indecency, and rummaged faster. She was about to start pacing when he pulled something out of his pack triumphantly, and held it up to her.

"Finally, now I can –"

She was cut short when she actually saw the small tuff of thread, rolled around a short, thick bone. It was thread, yes – in fact, it was quite probably authentic, somewhat fresh animal hair, since it smelled of dog and blood. Not to mention it was thick and broken. Did orcs seriously sew clothes together with this?

"You're kidding me," she said flatly, throwing a contemptuous look at the thread. "All right, I'll be leaving now."

"Wait!" he said.

The elf turned to face him. Tharg's blood was boiling; this elf was an ally, and yet she treated him like dirt. He had to put her in her place; he was sorely tempted to hit her right then and there.

"What?" she said, impatiently.

"You've been graciously accepted into the Horde, and yet you act like we are nothing but animals. You are thankless when I save you from an aggressor. And now, you insult my offer of service."

She looked bored, and that galled him.

"So?"

"So?" he repeated, enraged. "So I will teach you to respect the Horde!"

With that, he lunged at the door. She swore and started to do something with her hands – cast a spell, he realised. He couldn't let that happen. He pulled the door shut, and quickly ran over to her to shake her violently, effectively breaking her concentration. Bringing his arm back, he delivered a powerful slap at her thigh – it was more accessible then her head, where her arm was waving around to protect her. She barely yelped, though – perhaps she thought she wouldn't be overpowered, and didn't want to waste her energy.

He immediately shoved her against the wall. She reached for something in her dress – a dagger, he saw. He batted the insignificant weapon out of her hand and onto the floor; as she dove for it. He tried to intercept her, but she was too fast.

She grasped the dagger and, with a quick movement of her wrist, slashed upwards at him twice. The first hit missed as he leaned to the side, but the second lightly cut the flesh along his leg and hip, slicing through his breeches in the process.

He moved forwards again to strike her, but his leg caught in the torn garments, nearly causing him to fall. Enraged, he tore the things clean off his body and threw them into a corner – and then, quite suddenly, the elf's entire disposition changed.

"Oh, my…" she said, startled. He was taken a little aback; not one second ago her face had been twisted in loathing, and yet now it was softer, and calmer. He puzzled for a moment as she absently lay down the dagger, and then he followed her gaze; she was staring fixedly at his half-stiff masculinity. He hadn't even thought of that.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly stammered, shifting about on the ground a little. "I did not mean to offend you – the Horde – whatever," she said. "Let me pay you back for the grave insults I've uttered."

He was thrown off and amused at the same time. Women, Tharg thought. He was certainly a very average orc, though that didn't bother him any. Given her petite frame, it was possible that elves were not accustomed to such proportions; he supposed that, if he was correct in reading her sudden shift in attitude, he would get to milk that particular racial difference for all it was worth.

The blonde elf was already rearranging herself on the floor; a sort of awed enthusiasm settling over her features, and Tharg was suddenly wondering if he really would end up punishing her or not. He considered continuing on with something more violent – then a little voice in the back of his head filled him with wisdom.

And pass up the opportunity? I haven't had a good lay in months!

That was perhaps the alcohol, or perhaps his now-full erection speaking. In the past, though, both had proven their word to be reliable, so he went for it. He grabbed her forcefully, threw the elf onto the cot, and tore off his shirt for effect.

Then, first things first; he lifted the slender elf up into the air. She was slightly startled this time around, and almost seemed ready to return to anger when he literally ripped her clothes off. He put an end to that quickly, though; he lay her back down on her stomach, and before she could react, he was holding her down with one hand, and the other was in her nether regions, making her squirm about intensely.

Her lean, pale figure was a beautiful thing, particularly animated by lustful convulsions as it was now. Keeping his index finger where it was to stimulate her, he lay beside her, pushing his massive chest against her slightly, and gently started to bite the back of her neck. Instantly she moaned; he was careful not to hurt her with his tusks, but still managed to get most of his mouth around her neck, like a predator and its prey. She reacted by groaning again, and her right hand shot up behind her and tried to pull his hips closer to her.

"Want that?" he grunted into her ear, chuckling. She arched her back and pushed against him; no clearer answer was possible. He responded only by chuckling, though, and in tandem with one of her squirms of pleasure, he pushed his index finger deep inside her.

"Ohhh…" she moaned. Her head turned to one side, and he saw her lustfully licking her lips. He twisted his finger around a little, pulled it out, and then thrust it back in, this time using his thumb to stimulate her clit at the same time.

Again, her back arched. He twisted it around, and she writhed uncontrollably. He flipped her over, and got a good look at her body; her chest, heaving up and down, was adorned with two beautiful, round breasts that trembled with her breathing. Otherwise, her form was sleek and curved. She was much smaller then an orc, but certainly an excellent example of femininity.

His finger starting to tire, he pulled it out, much to the blood elf's apparent disappointment. Her groan quickly turn to a gasp, however, when he lay on his back, lifted her above him and set her kneeling above his face.

The orc grabbed her hips and, with masterful force, pulled her in closer to begin working Retha with his tongue. She gasped as it rubbed up and down her lips, stroking her clitoris with savage efficiency. The instant she had seen his cock, she had known that she could take advantage of the situation – and was she ever right! First his massive fingers, and now this! She just couldn't wait until the main course.

As her body reacted more and more strongly to the orc's probing, she slowly ran her hands up her smooth, silky body, enhancing the sensation even further. She cupped her breasts as her hips rocked against his face, his huge tongue making short work of her female needs.

As she turned her head to and fro in pleasure, she spotted his stiff manhood, unattended, behind her. She giggled; that was the sort of thing she felt she had to repent for – she couldn't stand not having it any longer. Temporarily halting the orc's impressive efforts, she rose off him and turned around; she lowered herself onto his face again, but this time she leaned forward and engulfed his cock in her mouth, to the orc's instantly pleased response.

It was indeed a whole lot larger then anything her multitudes of elf boyfriends had ever pulled out on her – she couldn't even completely fit it inside her mouth. Instead, she opted for the second best technique; after a couple of strokes, she concentrated on his head, where she could already taste his salty precum.